On Yoga: Unexpected Beginning

Sometimes the biggest life transformations come from the most
unexpected gifts in jumping into the unknown. If you would’ve told me
7 years ago that my life would be fulfilling as a mother, yoga
teacher, photographer, and writer I would not have believed you. In
fact, I probably would have laughed as though you were playing a joke
on me. It’s funny to look back on my life and think of the then and
now. Everything that has moved me closer to my Soul and my purpose has
been unplanned, painful, uncomfortable, and a real struggle. I never
wanted to be a mother and here I am, a mom to the coolest 4 year old
who’s been my greatest guide to love. I’m a yoga teacher and never
would’ve imagined myself entering a yoga studio, in fact, I scoffed
and judged the practice! I swore it was too soft and too hippie for
me.

"Everything that has moved me closer to my Soul...has been
unplanned, painful, uncomfortable, and a real struggle"

Photography and writing is something that has been a part of my life
but I never thought my eye and my words would amount to such exposure,
inspiration, and keep food on the table. To talk about this yoga
journey is really about sharing this life journey for me. Let’s rewind
7 years, when I first moved back to my hometown of Sacramento,
California. At the time, I was busying myself with being semi-newly
single, fast sex and relationships, hanging out with friends, clanking
glasses on the weekends, settling for an office job I hated, and
focusing on superficial desires that I hoped would beam me out of the
small town life as soon as possible.

It took months of smooth-talking coos from a friend to get me to try
yoga. I have never been a gym membership kind of gal. I loved being
outside and I was looking for workout, a fitness class, or an adult
league that would make me feel strong and give me stamina to
complement my running routine. I loved reformer pilates, tennis,
playing outdoor sports to drive competition as a way to stay fit and
feel good about myself. I loved to sweat and feel sore after a
hard-earned workout. I was not interested in this hippie,
weird-breathing, yoga “trend” that was taking place in town. I was
heavy with judgment, I admit, and was reluctant to agree to take class
with my aforementioned friend at a local studio with a promise of a
happy hour beer after that first class.

I finally bought the cheapest yoga mat I could find and begrudgingly
purchased ten classes for $10 at a local power vinyasa studio. One
Tuesday evening, I walked into the studio and let my floppy mat
unfurl, looking around nervously and watching friendly faces chatting
with neighboring mats. Beads of sweat were starting to form before the
practice even began, and as my nerves increased, so did my judgment.
“What the hell am I doing here?” I thought, as a sweet-faced, tattooed
and dreadlocked blonde waltzed over to my mat and introduced herself
as the teacher. She requested my name. “Who me?!”, I thought. Yes, me,
the newbie, ‘Fresh Meat – Alert!’ was surely plastered across my
forehead. Class began in child’s pose and my mind continued to run
wild: “here we go, retiring for some shut-eye with a bunch of sweaty
strangers. Repeat: what the hell am I doing here?”

Beads of sweat were starting to form before the practice even began,
and as my nerves increased, so did my judgment. “What the hell am I
doing here?”

It’s from that shaky starting point and through the remainder of
class, something magical began to happen. Before I could finish
questioning the magic of what was taking place, the sweat poured off
from the tip of my nose and down to my kneecaps, to my fingertips and
to all of those lovely, smelly creases that don’t need mentioning. I
begged, internally and often; “for the love of god, please take us
back to child’s pose!” I couldn’t keep up with the class, from the
warriors and lunging and back-bending to opening the hips and
balancing postures that left me feeling like a baby learning to hobble
my first steps. I heard phrases like, “find your breath” and “feel
powerful like a warrior” which sounded like a scientific formula in a
language that I could not understand. Two times, as I recall, the
teacher calling out my name guiding me to move my hands and put my
left heel down. Needless to say, I wanted to raise my white flag and
hail, “I surrender!” and finally we collapsed into Savasana, the point
in class where you lay down and take rest. I was filled with a list of
urges. I wanted to vomit, laugh, and cry. And I realized, I wanted to
come back for more. I couldn’t explain what had happened, but I felt
strangely high and surprisingly powerful. I also felt called-out and
spent as I toweled off gulping my last bite of humble pie.

That first painfully-wonderful yoga practice was years ago now. It
wasn’t until my son was born that I truly began to understand the
power of the practice. A place where my life, literally, depended on
it. My life took an unexpected turn when I found out I was pregnant
and would became a mom. It was a time of many beautiful moments in
this beginning role juxtaposed with deep-seeded pain and life
struggles in our household. I was faced with depression. Days filled
with difficult moments, as a mom, as a partner, that were spiraling in
quiet-dark ways coaxing myself to walk out on life. I felt very much
out of control and drowning in my mental state and was eventually
forced to make a choice: stay in darkness welcoming the brink of death
or do something about it. It was not at all to my credit to get
moving, but that of my significant other and the loving threat of
being taken to the hospital or his suggestion to return to my yoga
practice at a local studio. It was his promise to me, in April 2012,
that he would be home every afternoon in order for me to get off the
couch and spend time on my mat.

It wasn’t until my son was born that I truly began to understand the
power of the practice. A place where my life, literally, depended on it.

Through the practice, my life began to change. It wasn’t overnight,
by any means. And it is still an everyday process of healing and
forgiveness. Yoga was simply a tool to really dig into my life. It
opened the doors to simply be me. It allowed me to unlock blocks in my
physical body, push myself in ways that challenged my self-talk, and
empowered me to feel and say, “this is me and this is who I am today.
I am enough in this moment.” Not what society says I “should be” or
“should do” but understanding that my best self is so enough there’s
no question about it, from juggling motherhood to teaching and
practicing yoga to satisfying my desire to be creative in my art. This
yoga journey has been a whirlwind and it’s really taught me to love
myself – all of myself. It is the reason I teach. It is the reason I
continue to do the very things in life that scare me the most, because
there’s growth to be made.

We are never meant to stay the same, we are here to evolve, to grow,
and love. As a teacher, I welcome each and every student through that
studio door. To flop out their mat, as a first-timer or as a seasoned
yogi. I often guide the class to set an intention at the beginning of
practice – one that is real and loving for you. It does not matter why
you come and it is not for me or anyone to decide why you practice. I
know what it’s like to come to class just to feel good, curse through
a practice, get strong, or sweat off that hangover. I know what it’s
like because I have practiced for those very same reasons. Come to the
class to work through pain, anger, sadness, grief or come to build
strength, to hold yourself, muscle those 6-pack abs or come to cry,
dance, laugh, feel out of place, uncomfortable, or whatever reason
lights you up. I will always be an advocate for you to show up on your
mat as you are – because your yoga practice is personal. There’s no
right or wrong and there’s no reason in the world that would ever make
you unworthy of this practice. Come as you are, as you want to be. It
is the most loving act of all.

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